Re: Outside the Homestead: Patrick G/Newt P
Expectations could throttle a person. They could throttle any living thing, really. Place constraints upon any growing thing, and it must adapt, it must change. Deviations don't always mean a lack of truth to self, but, Newt was a firm believer in allowing growth to go where it would. So long as it was growth. Patrick'd been long stifled, by his own expectations (specifically, say, of sexuality), by society's, by Connie's, by his father's, even by Adrian's. Personally, though he'd felt their weight, Newt'd never been overly bothered by such things. But, of course, he wasn't Patrick. He'd be thrilled to hear the man'd decided he ought become who he was, as he was, rather than contort himself to fit whatever it was someone else expected of him.
"'My world.'" Newt echoed the phrase with a fond smile, shaking his head as he looked at Patrick's solemn young face. "Perhaps we can agree, that if I am going to do that, I'll say as much." It was true that Patrick's world wasn't Newt's, but this one here, as much as Patrick thought it was Newt's—wasn't either. Newt's world was a world away, down some stilted alley, in the gizzard of a rainforest, where the trees had eyes, along a silty riverbed with a freshwater siren. Newt's world, such as it was, was a diverse place and it didn't include many people, at all. Patrick, however, had his place there, and Newt wouldn't give that up without a word.—He smiled at the play of the wink, glad to see some playfulness still there. "You're so very kind to me," Newt teased, tracing his finger along the slant of the man's jaw. He touched the pink pearling slope of Patrick's lower lip once more. "Worrying means you suffer twice, dear heart," he said, using a worn phrase of his as he touched back upon the topic of leaving. "I'm not going anywhere."
As for Adrian, well, Newt leaned his weight against the other man, curling toward one shoulder and tucking himself there as Patrick read. He sighed as the mobile was replaced, wondering what was going on in Patrick's pensive mind, just before he, Patrick, spoke. "Hmm," was Newt's response, not bothering to sit upright, and instead, tucking his nose to the cowl at Patrick's throat. "I'm an open wound to him. There's nothing I can say—that's true—that won't hurt him. I've tried. I'd hoped coming back when you couldn't, he'd see I only meant well for him and that I'd like to help. Instead, it's that selfsame hurt he sees, only bitterer." Newt sighed again. "You needn't have your first conversation with him be about me, if that's what you're thinking. He shouldn't've said it and it was insulting, but, I suspect taking him to task will only have him feel all the more victimized by you and me. Perhaps it's best if I ignore it?"